


there's bones in my closet, but you hang stuff anyway

by emmerrr



Series: Ronan and Adam navigate life [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, I don't really know what this is, M/M, it's overwhelmingly soft, it's sad but don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 00:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12120459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmerrr/pseuds/emmerrr
Summary: Adam goes back to the Barns for reading week, which happens to coincide with the one year anniversary of a very trying few days. Feelings ensue.





	there's bones in my closet, but you hang stuff anyway

**Author's Note:**

> title from guillotine by jon bellion & travis mendes (which is such a pynch song).

Ronan’s birthday, the one year anniversary of Aurora Lynch’s death, of Gansey’s death and resurrection, and of losing Noah entirely, all fortuitously fall in the reading week of Adam’s first semester at college. He has essays to write, and could really use the time to spend at the library, but he can’t bring himself to stay. It doesn’t feel right.

He needs to be home.

He doesn’t make a fanfare out of the fact he’s returning to the Barns. He’d mentioned to Ronan earlier on in the school year that he’d try and make it back for his reading week, and had then booked his flights a few weeks later and messaged Ronan to ask if he’d pick him up from the airport. If Ronan notices the significance of the dates — and Adam assumes that he _does_ — he fails to mention anything, and when the time finally arrives, Ronan is waiting at Arrivals as promised.

He is wearing hefty boots ideal for stomping, jeans that are torn from wear and not by design, a black t-shirt, his trusty black leather jacket, and a dark gray beanie hat. To top off the ensemble, Ronan wears a sharp smile which he turns on Adam to full effect. It takes a little effort not to swoon — or it would if Adam was even remotely the swooning type.

“Parrish,” Ronan says predictably as soon as Adam gets within hearing distance.

“Lynch.”

Neither of them move initially as uncertainty dangles in the air between them. It’s their first time seeing each other in person since Ronan dropped Adam off at the beginning of the school year, and it’s been harder than Adam thought it would be.

He knows with a sort of bone-deep assurance that all he needed to do was say the word and Ronan would have jumped in the BMW and driven the long, long way just to see him, but he’s glad he resisted the urge. It would have set a dangerous precedent.

This first stretch of time apart was always going to be the hardest, but now that Adam is back and Ronan is finally standing before him, he's suddenly at a loss of what to do.

Ronan, as ever, moves first.

He reaches down and tugs Adam’s duffel out of his grasp, slinging it over his shoulder. He holds his hand out; Adam sighs, but takes it and lets himself be led towards the exit.

“I can carry my own bag, Ronan,” he feels the need to point out, not that he put up much of a fight to hold on to it.

“Good for you,” Ronan says easily, bringing Adam’s hand up to his mouth and pressing a light kiss to the back of it.

Adam feels a faint blush rise in his cheeks, a side-effect of so long without Ronan in his proximity; he’d almost forgotten how casual Ronan could be in his affections. He tightens his grip of Ronan’s hand.

“Did you miss me, Parrish?” Ronan asks, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

“No,” Adam lies. “You’re terrible. I haven’t missed you at all.”

* * *

 

The first couple of days are — well, they’re lovely, there’s no other word for it.

Ronan is in high spirits, and Adam knows that the reason is _him_ and it makes him feel warm and known and worthy and _happy_ , and if he could bottle up that feeling he would, just so that he can remember what it feels like again and again and again.

It’s knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he’s loved, and that he’s loved by _Ronan_. To be so sure of something like love is something Adam’s not sure he’ll ever get fully used to, and maybe he doesn’t want to. Because love is a gift and Adam wants to treasure it; protect it. It’s Ronan’s heart in his hands, just as Ronan has Adam’s. It’s the ultimate trust.

Adam, being Adam, sets himself aside a couple of hours to study a day, but on the first day he manages no more than twenty minutes. Ronan is distracting — on purpose, as well — but it’s okay, because Adam _allows_ himself to be distracted. He’s had weeks and weeks with no Ronan, and they should be making up for lost time, so fuck it, they _do_. The books aren’t going anywhere.

In the early afternoon, Ronan announces he’s going to make some soup, and so Adam leaves him to it and accompanies Opal who heads out on her daily walk. It’s muddy out and so Adam pulls on an old pair of wellington boots that he thinks belong to Matthew, and when he steps outside Opal thrusts a basket into his hands.

Adam doesn’t ask, just follows Opal as she leads him round the back of one of the fields where it meets a long and winding path. Opal doesn’t say anything because she’s clearly looking for something specific, examining the hedgerow as she makes her way along, and Adam understands when she suddenly stops and reaches into the bushes. She comes out with a handful of large blue berries and tosses them into the basket Adam is holding.

“Damsons,” Adam says, and Opal nods before reaching back in for more.

“Ronan will use them to make jam,” she says, voice muffled from where her face is hidden in the bushes. She pulls herself out and deposits another handful of berries in the basket, then she wrinkles her nose distastefully. “And gin.”

“Damson gin?” Adam asks.

“He’s going to give it to Gansey for Christmas.”

Adam smiles; damson gin sounds like _exactly_ the kind of pretension Gansey would appreciate — and homemade, no less.

They carry on, Adam grabbing the berries in clear view or picking up any that have fallen on the ground, and Opal takes care of the ones that are further back, easier for smaller hands to get to. It’s quiet work, but it’s not uncomfortable — it’s a relaxing task.

After about forty-five minutes they turn back, and Opal takes Adam’s free hand, swinging it between them as they walk.

“Have you been doing this every day?” Adam asks.

“For about a week now,” Opal says with a nod. “Ronan says it’s the right season for the damsons to be picked.”

“Does he ever come with you?”

“He only came the first time, to show me what to look for. Chainsaw always comes.” Opal looks up and Adam follows her gaze; sure enough, Chainsaw is circling overhead.

“He said he used to go with Aurora when he was small,” Opal continues, and Adam drags his eyes from the sky to meet Opal’s.

“Go where?”

“Damson picking. They used to make jam together.”

This is new information, a nugget of Ronan’s past and family life that Adam hadn’t been privy to as of yet. Another piece to the puzzle that is Ronan, and something in Adam’s heart clenches painfully. He’s hit with an image of a little Ronan, ruddy-cheeked from the cold and hand in hand with his mother, golden Aurora, picking damsons off the hedgerow. Ronan, curly haired and smiling toothily, sitting up on the kitchen counter while Aurora stands at the stove, stirring her jam.

Adam wasn’t there but he can picture it, and if it gives him a pang to think about then he can only imagine how it must feel for Ronan to actually remember it.

Ronan doesn’t talk about this stuff.

Adam’s about to ask Opal how Ronan’s been lately; what his mood’s been like, what he does in his free time, if he’s been sleeping. But abruptly, Opal lets go of Adam’s hand and sprints off, making sure to jump in a particularly muddy puddle as she goes.

“Wait!” Adam calls, laughing breathlessly, and he speeds up but doesn’t actually break into a run. He doesn’t want to risk dropping any of the berries they’ve picked, and besides, running in wellies isn’t the easiest of tasks.

Chainsaw squawks from somewhere above, and Opal turns around when she notices Adam has failed to keep up with her. She grins, eyes gleaming. Arms outstretched, she lifts her head to the sky and lets out an unholy shriek, but it’s a joy-filled thing somehow — and Adam would know, he can tell the difference.

Opal waits for him, and when Adam catches up, he takes her hand again. Chainsaw swoops down and lands on Adam’s shoulder, and it’s like that they walk back to the Barns.

Ronan steps out of the kitchen and into the hall when he hears the door. His expression is soft and unguarded when he locks eyes with Adam.

“You have mud on your cheek, Parrish,” he says, lips curling in a grin. He’s still looking at Adam when he points at Opal, who is just starting to step forward off the mat. “Don’t fucking move, brat.”

Opal freezes, a filthy hoof hovering mere centimetres from Ronan’s nice, clean floor, but she doesn’t return it to the mat. Ronan turns to her and glares. There’s a glint in her eye as she lowers her hoof a fraction of an inch.

“Don’t. Even. _Think_ about it.”

There’s a brief stand-off; Ronan stares at Opal, and she just stares right back. Then she laughs, high-pitched and not quite human sounding, and makes a break for the living room.

She’s not fast enough, partly because Ronan has clearly been anticipating that move. He steps into her path and scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder, narrowly avoiding getting kicked in the face by wayward hooves.

Ronan doesn’t bother saying anything, just begins to stomp up the stairs as Opal shrieks in an ungainly fashion. But the whole scene screams of a tried and tested routine to Adam, and he’s smiling as he pulls off his wellies.

He drops the basket of damson berries off in the kitchen then tracks down a mop to clean up Opal’s muddy hoof-prints from the hallway floor, and he’s half-finished when Ronan comes back down the stairs. He’s changed his top — presumably the other one is now mud splattered — and he halts when he sees what Adam is doing.

“Leave it, Parrish. Opal can do it herself when she comes down.”

Adam shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Well I fucking do, she thinks she owns the fucking place.”

Adam continues mopping anyway; Ronan rolls his eyes and heads back to the kitchen. It only takes Adam another minute or so to finish and then he deals with the mop and bucket. When he hunts down Ronan, he finds him pulling freshly baked bread out of the oven and he stops short.

“You made that?” he asks.

Ronan places the loaf on a cooling rack then removes his oven gloves. “Yes, Parrish. I made that.”

Adam sits on the counter next to the sink and glances between the bread, the soup on the stove, and Ronan. “When did you get so domestic?”

Ronan barks a short laugh. “Fuck off.”

“No, I’m serious,” Adam says. He’s smiling, but there’s an undercurrent of sadness that he can’t easily explain.

Ronan shrugs. “I like cooking, and baking, I guess. It’s relaxing.” His ears tinge pink and Adam immediately feels guilty; he didn’t mean to embarrass Ronan.

It’s not that Ronan never used to cook because he _did_ ; it’s just that before Adam left for college it was never this accomplished, this well thought out. Ronan’s clearly been practicing.

This is a change, and Adam wasn’t here to see it develop. Long distance fucking _sucks_.

“C’mere,” Adam says.

Ronan sighs like this is a huge imposition but he goes — of course he goes — and he stands in the gap between Adam’s legs where he’s sitting on the counter. Like this, Adam has the height advantage and he’s prepared to use it.

He cups Ronan’s face in his hands, and Ronan settles his own on Adam’s thighs. Adam has Ronan beneath his hands, right where he wants him, and he looks his fill. What _else_ has changed while Adam’s been away?

“You hair’s getting longer,” Adam says, and he runs his fingers through a few strands; the ends are just starting to curl.

“Well, it’s getting colder,” Ronan replies.

Adam huffs a laugh. “So it’s for winter warmth?”

“Yeah, Parrish. I’m growing my winter coat.”

Adam runs a thumb along Ronan’s jawline where there is just the faintest suggestion of stubble, and Ronan catches Adam’s hand and kisses the inside of his wrist.

Adam looks at Ronan again, properly, and there’s a question in Ronan's eyes as he stares back. He looks upset as he leans forward and presses his face into Adam’s shoulder. “Stop it, Adam,” he says. It comes out muffled.

Adam wraps his arms around Ronan’s shoulders. “Stop what?” he mumbles into Ronan’s hair.

“Looking at me like — like you’ve never fucking seen me before.”

“I’m not,” Adam says, but then again it doesn’t feel entirely true.

“You _are_ ,” Ronan insists, and he’s starting to sound grumpy and it’s crazy endearing, and Adam kisses his head. “You’re having an existential crisis ‘cause I baked some fucking bread.”

“I’m _not_ ,” he says again. “You just took me by surprise. You never told me you’d started baking properly.”

“You never asked.”

“I asked what you’d been up to,” Adam reminds him, and Ronan sighs; it’s warm against Adam’s shoulder. He pulls back and Adam loosens his hold.

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

Adam waits a beat before responding just so that it doesn’t come out snappy; Ronan has always been uniquely frustrating. “Well, it is,” he says, pleased his voice sounds measured and easy. “I fill you in on college crap, and I want you to fill me in on home crap, however mundane you think it is. Deal?”

“Yeah, okay, Parrish. Deal,” Ronan says. He sounds put-upon but Adam knows it’s all for effect so he lets it go. “You still have mud on your face, by the way.”

Adam claps a hand to his cheek; he’d forgotten Ronan mentioning it earlier with the distraction of Opal making a colossal mess, but sure enough, there’s a patch of dried mud on his face, and Adam scrubs at it ineffectually.

Ronan rolls his eyes, but he’s fond — _so_ fond — and he smiles as he steps away and wets a sheet of kitchen towel under the tap.

“Stay still, Adam, I’ll get it,” he says. With a gentleness he only shares with a select few, Ronan takes Adam’s chin in his hand to steady him, and wipes away the mud.

An indignant retort is right there on the tip of Adam’s tongue; something about how he can wash his own face, thank-you-very-much, but honestly, he’s too in love to mind.

When Ronan’s finished, he throws away the kitchen towel and then seems to notice the basket of damson berries on the side.

“Good haul,” he comments, offhand.

Adam hops off the counter. “Opal says you were going to make jam,” he says carefully. “And gin.”

There’s a pause, then Ronan nods. “The gin’s for Gansey. The jam’s just because.” He shrugs. Opal’s hooves sound on the stairs and Ronan steps back over to the stove and switches the burner on to heat his soup back up. “Slice some of that bread, would you, Parrish?”

Adam gets to it, and a moment later Opal skips in and takes a seat at the table. She eyes Adam and the bread, then Ronan and his soup.

“Are you eating human food today?” Ronan asks without looking at her. There’s not a lot that Opal _won’t_ eat, but there are days when she seems to prefer foliage over anything else.

She nods, but when Ronan ladles up a bowl full of soup for her, she looks at it suspiciously before taking a careful spoonful.

She pauses, considering, then begrudgingly says, “It’s good.”

“Halle-fucking-lujah for that.”

Lunch is a relatively quiet affair. Adam is starving, and Opal’s right, the soup _is_ good, as is the bread. There’s something to be said about comfortable silences, too. Mealtimes at the double-wide used to be carried out in near silence as well, but the kind of silence that was fraught with tension and liable to shatter at any moment.

This is an entirely different feeling, and Adam will never not be grateful for it.

After they’ve finished, Opal disappears again to do, in Ronan’s words, “Whatever the fuck Opal does all day.”

Ronan and Adam deal with the dishes — Ronan washes, Adam dries — and as Ronan passes Adam the last bowl, he says, “I was going to start making some of the jam this afternoon.”

Nowhere in there is a question and yet Adam hears the offer all the same. “Can I help?” he asks.

A small smile flashes across Ronan’s face; there and gone again in an instant. “Do you need to study?”

“It can wait,” Adam says, because it can.

“Then yes, Parrish, I’d love some help.”

* * *

 

Adam wakes with a start in the middle of the night following his third day back at the Barns. He lies still, eyes open but unseeing in the pitch black, and he tries to figure out what has woken him up while he waits for them to adjust. He can’t quite pin-point the reason; if he was having a nightmare he can’t remember it, and the only sounds he can hear are those that come hand in hand with an old house. Nothing unusual. All Adam knows is that he is overcome with a feeling of unease.

All is not well.

The weight in the bed feels differently distributed than it had when Adam had fallen asleep, and he reaches an arm out to the space beside him. Ronan isn’t there, and yet Adam can hear him breathing; he’s still in the room.

It takes another moment for Adam’s eyes to fully focus in the dark, and when they do he spots Ronan sitting further down the bed. He’s cross-legged, shoulders hunched, head in his hands held up by his elbows which are perched on his knees. His back is to Adam so his expression is unclear.

“Ronan,” Adam says quietly.

Ronan does his smoker’s inhale then blows it out slowly. “Go back to sleep, Adam,” he says. His voice sounds thick; he’s not crying, but he perhaps _might_ have been, and the thought of Ronan awake and upset while Adam slept is incredibly hard to stomach.

He sits up and slowly edges forward, shifting to the left so that he ends up directly behind Ronan. He gets as close as he can and he leans his brow against the top of Ronan’s spine. Ronan’s skin is cool to the touch; he has obviously been sitting like this long enough for the bed-warmth to fade.

He’s still bleeding tension, coiled tight enough to spring at any moment, and Adam loops his arms under Ronan’s and links them loosely across Ronan’s chest. Ronan doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t complain and so Adam stays there, head against Ronan’s back, arms around him, infusing Ronan with some of his own warmth.

After a couple of minutes, Ronan finally starts to loosen. He raises his head and relaxes his shoulders, then covers Adam’s hands with his own.

They still don’t speak, but once Adam feels the last of the tension melt away from Ronan’s frame, he lifts his head and presses a kiss to the back of Ronan’s neck. He tugs lightly where his arms are still wrapped around Ronan’s chest, but then he lets go entirely and scoots backwards to lie back down.

It takes Ronan a few seconds but then he follows, settling in on his side and pulling up the blankets so that he and Adam are safely cocooned.

Adam lies on his side, facing Ronan who stares right back. His eyes are haunted and a little afraid, and Adam wants to ask but he can’t, it isn’t fair. Not in the night when the shadows still have claws. It’s better to ask in the day when the light gets in, when the nightmares are nothing more than a dim memory.

Ronan breaks the gaze, instead focusing his attention on Adam’s right hand which lies on the mattress between them. He begins idly playing with Adam’s fingers.

“I don’t want to sleep,” he says. It’s a such a small admission, but it’s better than nothing.

One of the many learning curves that Adam had to negotiate during the early days of his and Ronan’s relationship was when to push and when to leave well enough alone. Getting Ronan to relax and lie back down is a little victory, and Adam doesn’t want to undo all of that by trying to get Ronan to explain further, or by trying to insist he try and get some sleep anyway.

He doesn’t want to think about whatever Ronan might currently be seeing every time he closes his eyes.

“So don’t,” Adam says.

Ronan’s eyes flick back up to Adam’s as if questioning that easy acceptance, but he seems satisfied with whatever he reads on Adam’s face. He nods and goes back to playing with Adam’s hand; feather-light touches as he traces Adam’s fingertips.

“Go back to sleep, Adam,” he says again.

Adam doesn’t want to; he desperately wants to stay awake and ride out Ronan’s insomnia with him, but he’s tired and warm and his eyes are so heavy, his body betraying him yet again.

“Wake me up if you need me,” he says around a yawn as his eyes shut of their own accord.

“Okay.”

“Promise me, Ronan.”

“I promise.”

* * *

 

The following day is not a good one.

Ronan heads out early to do farm-related chores, followed by Opal who will no doubt be more of a hindrance than a help, but Adam takes advantage of the quiet to get some studying done. That is, technically speaking, the point of this week anyway.

It starts to rain pretty heavily around mid-morning and when Ronan and Opal traipse back indoors, both are soaked to the skin and shivering. Opal, usually happy to run around mucky for as long as possible, looks miserable and cold enough that she immediately heads off to the main bathroom to run herself a bath. Ronan makes his way to the en-suite in his parents’ bedroom to have a shower in there.

While they’re getting cleaned up, Adam decides to make them all giant mugs of hot chocolate, with plenty of marshmallows thrown in. Not in Opal’s though; they’ve learned that marshmallows are one of the only things that she won’t eat; cleaning half-chewed and then spat out marshmallows off the floor is not an experience Adam wants to repeat.

Opal’s the first to re-emerge, which surprises Adam as she’d had a bath whereas Ronan had jumped in the shower and would usually only take about five minutes.

Opal’s wearing a clean skull-cap (Ronan keeps her well-stocked these days as they are a definitive part of her ‘look’ and she’d never take it off if there wasn’t one to immediately replace it with), and an Aglionby jumper that comes down past her knees. Ronan has most likely destroyed any part of his own school uniform and so Adam has to assume it’s Matthew’s; Opal is drowning in it. But she looks warm now, at least, although her expression is troubled. She's probably feeding off Ronan's mood; she does that sometimes.

“Here.” Adam passes her the hot chocolate, sans marshmallows. She thanks him by rubbing the back of his hand on her face, then she goes off to the living room. It’s obviously not really a day for words.

Adam waits another few minutes for Ronan to come down, but he doesn’t, and the hot chocolate is starting to cool. Frowning, Adam heads upstairs. Ronan’s not in his own room, and Adam hovers outside the threshold of Niall and Aurora’s bedroom. It’s sacred ground, in a way. Adam never goes in there. It’s not that he thinks he’s not _allowed_ exactly, he’s just never really had a reason to. Ronan himself rarely goes in there, except on occasions like this when he needs to use their bathroom.

Adam can hear the shower still running, and so he enters the bedroom and knocks on the bathroom door. “Ronan?”

No answer is forthcoming. “Ronan, I’m coming in,” Adam says, and he tries the door. It’s locked, but it’s just a twisting mechanism and Adam unlocks it easily from the outside using his fingernail.

Ronan is standing beneath the spray of the shower, head against the tiles in front of him. His eyes are closed, and Adam says his name again.

Ronan starts, and blinks his eyes open. “Fuck,” he says. Adam sticks his hand under the spray and is relieved that the water isn’t running cold; it’s pleasantly warm and Ronan hasn’t slept properly in well over twenty-four hours, and the combination of the two is probably why he’s managed to nod off in the shower. It’s a miracle he didn’t slip over.

“Are you done?” Adam asks.

“Yeah.” Ronan switches the shower off and Adam passes him the enormous fluffy towel off the back of the door, then goes back to Ronan’s bedroom.

He hunts through Ronan’s chest of drawers and pulls out Ronan’s comfiest pair of sweats, fluffy socks, and the warmest sweater he can find. When Ronan joins him a moment later, Adam points to the clothes on the bed.

“Put those on, then come downstairs,” he says. He thinks Ronan might snap in irritation, but he doesn’t; just nods tiredly.

Adam goes back to the kitchen. Two mugs of hot chocolate still sit on the side, and when Adam touches the side of one he can tell it won’t be quite warm enough anymore. The marshmallows have gone a bit funny as well, amalgamated together in the heat, and so Adam fishes them out with a spoon and puts them on a plate. Maybe Ronan, in his new culinary prowess, will know of something to do with them.

When he hears Ronan start to come down the stairs, Adam puts the mugs in the microwave for twenty seconds, then carries them through to the living room.

Ronan is busy sorting out a fire in the wood-burner, and Opal is curled up in an armchair in the corner. She’s got Ronan’s headphones on plugged into an old MP3-player, and they look enormous on her. Her eyes are closed but the rhythmic bobbing of her head tells Adam she’s not sleeping.

Adam’s books are still spread out on the floor in front of the sofa, and his laptop is on the coffee table. He ignores them for now and sits down. When Ronan is finished starting the fire, he sits next to Adam and takes the hot chocolate Adam hands him.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. He takes a big gulp and then drops his head back against the sofa.

Adam twists in his seat so he’s sidelong and takes in Ronan’s profile. He didn’t ask last night, but he’ll ask now. “Is it your dreams?”

Ronan doesn’t glance Adam’s way but he nods, just once.

“What are they about?”

“Nothing good.”

“Have you — have you brought anything out, lately?”

Ronan shakes his head; drinks some more hot chocolate. “There’s nothing in there I want to _take_. I’m scared to—” he breaks off, apparently not wanting to finish the thought. But Adam is patient. Ronan downs the rest of his drink, then puts his mug on the coffee table. He half-twists in his seat and hooks his arm around Adam’s calf where it’s up on the sofa. “I’m scared to stay in the dream too long in case I bring something back accidentally.”

Adam finishes his own drink and puts the mug on the floor. “And that’s why you won’t sleep.”

Ronan rubs the heels of his hands into his tired eyes. “I _can’t_.” At length he drags his hands away from his face and he looks almost broken in a way Adam hasn’t seen him in a long, long time. “I miss my mom.”

He hasn’t said it out loud before, and Adam knows he’s only saying it now because it’s so close to the one year mark since Aurora died. It’s no wonder she’s on Ronan’s mind; she’s been on Adam’s, too.

“I know,” Adam says sadly, because it’s all he _can_ say.

Ronan lets out a shaky sigh, then he crawls forward and wraps his arms around Adam’s middle, resting his head on his chest. Adam slouches down to make it more comfortable then brings a hand to Ronan’s head. His hair’s still a little damp from his shower but Adam doesn’t mind; it’s soft, and running his fingers through it as as calming for him as it is for Ronan.

“I love you, Adam,” Ronan mumbles sleepily, and it’s still such a gift to hear it, every single time.

“I love _you_ ,” he whispers back, and he can just about make out Ronan’s brief smile from where his face is half-hidden in Adam’s sweater. With the hand that isn’t in Ronan’s hair, Adam reaches to the floor to pick up the book he was reading for school earlier.

“I’ll get off you if you’re studying,” Ronan says, but Adam holds him firm.

“Don’t fucking move. You’re warm.”

“Well, if you insist, Parrish.” He settles himself again. Adam hopes he’ll go to sleep but he just keeps watching the fire. At this point, it’s probably stubbornness keeping him awake more than anything else.

“Close your eyes, Ronan,” Adam says. “Even if you can’t sleep, your body needs to rest. It’ll help if you just close your eyes for a bit.”

Ronan blinks a couple of times, but then he _does_ close his eyes, and it takes no more than a couple of minutes for his breathing to level out. Adam hopes that he’s too tired to dream.

He can’t bring back the people Ronan’s lost. He can’t keep Ronan’s nightmares at bay, and he can’t fight Ronan’s demons for him, anymore than Ronan could do the same for Adam.

But he _can_ do this: he can sit with Ronan, and hold him, and tell him that he loves him. He can make it so that Ronan knows that whatever he might face while he’s sleeping, he’s got Adam to come back to when he wakes up.

And that’s not nothing.

* * *

 

Ronan’s birthday is on Friday, and Declan and Matthew arrange to come down and stay the night. They won’t be there until the afternoon, though, which means Adam and Ronan have the morning to themselves while Opal is off collecting yet more damson berries. Adam can’t believe there’s even any left, they now have that many. They’re running out of jars to fill with jam.

Adam is up and ready for the day before Ronan and has coffee ready and waiting in the pot when Ronan comes into the kitchen. He still doesn’t look entirely well-rested as he’s been trying to avoid sleeping at night, but he has at least been managing cat-naps during the day, huddled against Adam while he studies and writes essays.

“Do you know what today is?” Adam asks, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“It’s Friday,” Ronan says, because he’s the _worst_.

“Yeah, okay, smartass. Anything else?”

Ronan regards Adam evenly, then sighs. “Alright, Parrish, I’ll bite.” He plasters on a too-cheery grin. “It’s my _birthday!_ ” he exclaims with mock enthusiasm, and then drops the grin. So he’s not going to make this easy, then.

“That it is,” Adam says. In the run-up to Ronan’s birthday, he’s been dealing with the age-old question of what to get for the boy who can not only afford anything he wants, but can also quite literally pull whatever he wants out of his dreams. Ronan had been no help when Adam asked; just shrugged and said, “Nothing.” And Adam knows, really, that what Ronan appreciates more than any gift he could get is Adam’s presence.

Which is really nice and everything, but Adam still hadn’t wanted to leave Ronan empty handed on his birthday.

He pulls the tiny package out of his back pocket and slides it across the kitchen table towards Ronan. “Happy Birthday,” he says, and he feels unreasonably nervous about it.

Ronan smiles then, a genuine thing, and he picks it up; tears off the paper. Inside is a Harvard keychain — one of the nicer ones.

“I know it’s not much,” Adam says anxiously, but Ronan’s smiling wider now and he shakes his head, waving off Adam’s concerns.

“Thanks, Adam.” He goes over to the wall next to the door where the keys are hanging and pulls his car keys off one of the hooks. Adam watches while Ronan attaches his new keyring, and he knows now that every time Ronan drives the BMW, he’ll see that keyring and think of Adam. It’s a comforting thought.

So yeah, it’s a small thing, but at least he got Ronan something this year. He didn’t give him anything at _all_ last year. Then again, now that he thinks about it, that’s not entirely true.

He smirks and crosses the kitchen, clutches his hand in Ronan’s t-shirt and tugs him closer. “Do you know what _else_ today is?” he asks.

Ronan arches a brow, sky high. “What?”

“A year ago today, you kissed me. For the very first time.”

Ronan affects confusion. “Huh. Doesn’t ring a bell, Parrish.” Then the smile is back, sharp and calculating and so smug that Adam can’t wait to kiss it off his face. “You’ll have to remind me.”

That, Adam can do.

* * *

 

Later, when Declan and Matthew are here, Adam sits on one of the wicker chairs in the porch. He has his laptop perched on his knees because he’s been trying to finish up the last of his essays that he has to do, but he hasn’t written a single word in almost twenty minutes.

He’s been thinking a lot about Cabeswater lately. It’s hard not to, and it’s a shame that a day that should be inherently _good_ — Ronan’s birthday, and for all intents and purposes, his and Adam’s anniversary if they count that first kiss as the start of _them_ — should be followed by days that just bring about reminders of sad things. Of endings. Of Aurora and Cabeswater and Noah.

Adam is simultaneously glad to be free of the sacrifice he made to Cabeswater and overcome with grief over losing it. He’d never felt alone with Cabeswater thrumming through his veins; he’d never felt so protected, so powerful. And yet he still sometimes wakes in the night in a cold sweat with the memory of Ronan’s neck under his hands so fresh in his mind that it’s nauseating. It’s always just under the surface, reminding Adam just when he least expects it of how it felt to be unable to pull away, to know how unwilling Ronan was to protect himself for fear of hurting Adam. It takes a while to remember that he’s in control now; he can’t be used as such anymore, can’t have his autonomy snatched from him in the cruellest of ways.

It’s the most frustrating contradiction to feel both of these things so strongly, and it’s bothering Adam so much today that he wants to crawl out of his own skin.

From where he’s situated, he can make out the figures of Ronan, Matthew and Opal over by one of the fields. Matthew and Ronan are sitting on the fence, and Opal is — well, Adam’s not quite sure what she’s doing. It looks like she’s digging a hole.

Declan isn’t with them, because surprisingly enough, he insisted on making Ronan’s birthday dinner. A hotpot or something, but whatever it is, it smells amazing. Adam finds himself wondering if this, like the jam, is something Aurora used to make.

The door swings open and shut behind Adam, and Declan steps out onto the porch, sinking into the chair beside Adam’s. He has a beer in his hand and for a couple of minutes he says nothing, just watches his brothers and Opal.

There’s a complicated look in his eyes, sort of half-wistful, half something Adam can’t name.

“How’s he been?” Declan asks at last. “Ronan, I mean,” he clarifies, as if he possibly could have meant anyone else.

Adam sighs. Things are better between Declan and Ronan now, much better than they used to be, but it’s still understandably a little bit strained. Too much has happened for their reconciliation to be a speedy process, and they don’t see each other often enough as it is.

“I’m not doing this, Declan,” Adam says. “I’m not playing messenger for you. If you want to know how Ronan’s doing, he’s right there.” Adam gestures across to the field. “Go and ask him.”

“He’ll just tell me he’s fine, that’s all he ever tells me,” Declan says, and he barely seems to have even registered Adam’s tone. He just sounds resigned. “It’s infuriating.”

Adam decides to cut Declan some slack because he sympathises; he loves Ronan, but he _is_ infuriating.

“He’s okay,” he tells Declan with a shrug. “He has good days and bad days, same as anyone.”

Declan nods and takes a swig of beer. “I just worry, y’know? I swear, worrying about Ronan takes up about eighty percent of my time, especially at the minute. It’s a bad sort of time of year, I guess. And he only answers my calls like a third of the time. Which, don’t get me wrong, is a considerable improvement from what he used to do. But _still_.”

“I’m sure he appreciates the concern,” Adam says, choosing his words carefully. “In his own way.” He doesn’t really want to talk about Ronan with Declan when Ronan isn’t here; it feels too secretive somehow. But Adam knows firsthand the difficulties of keeping in touch with Ronan, and he’s the one that Ronan makes the most effort with.

Declan snorts. “I doubt that,” he says. He glances away from his brothers and catches Adam’s eye. “I’m glad he has you. I’m not sure if I’ve said that before, but I am. You’re good for him.”

He hasn’t said it before, and it actually means quite a lot to Adam. Because Declan might be a lot of things, but one thing that Adam knows above everything else is that, however he might show it, Declan really fucking loves his little brothers.

“Thank you,” he says. “He’s good for me, too.”

Declan smiles. “That’s nice to hear.” He sounds like he means it, so Adam smiles back.

He’s hit suddenly by how much Declan has lost. He’s never seemed as at home at the Barns as Ronan is, probably because it means something else to him. But Aurora was his mother, too. He’s also an orphan, just like his brothers. He has just as many reasons to grieve, but his grief is worn in different ways; it's had to have been, he's the eldest. And although Adam never met their father, he’s heard enough to know there are probably few people who have as many reasons to be angry at Niall Lynch as Declan does.

The favourite of neither of his parents, and yet the one left with the most responsibility.

“And you, Declan? How are you?” Adam decides to ask.

Declan glances at him in surprise, and it leaves Adam with the impression that it’s the first time in a while that anyone’s asked him that. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m good.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and Adam’s happy to leave it there. He and Declan aren’t exactly close as it is, and it already feels like they’ve made progress today.

It isn’t long until Ronan and Matthew make their way back over. Opal’s still down in the field; she’s abandoned her digging and is chasing Chainsaw around in circles, squawking as she goes.

Ronan’s obviously been buoyed by his time with Matthew and Opal because he’s smiling as he climbs up the porch steps, and he takes a seat on the arm of Declan’s chair.

“You stealing my beer, bro?” he says, indicating the bottle in Declan’s hand.

“You’re too young to drink anyway.”

“So are you, you fuckin’ hypocrite,” Ronan says, shoving Declan. “You’re not twenty-one yet!”

Declan shoves him back and there’s a minor scuffle but it’s all in good fun — it’s nothing like the sort of fights Adam remembers them getting into while Declan was still at Aglionby.

“Can _I_ have a beer?” Matthew asks.

“ _No_ ,” Ronan and Declan say in unison, and Adam laughs because they are both so consistent when it comes to Matthew. It’s warming to see them all being brothers as they _should_ be, and it’s in moments like these that Adam can imagine what they were like growing up, before everything got so skewed.

They can get it back though, as long as both Ronan and Declan keep putting the effort in, and Adam’s hopeful that they will.

Matthew sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose. “Is something burning?”

There’s a pause, then Declan says, “ _Shit_ ,” and rushes to his feet and back inside.

Ronan huffs a laugh and meets Adam’s eyes. “Dinner should be good, then.”

* * *

 

Ronan and his brothers head off to St. Agnes the following morning. It’s not Sunday, but Declan and Matthew have to leave in the afternoon, and it officially marks a year since Aurora died. They wanted to commemmorate it somehow. Adam was invited to go with, but politely declined; it really feels like a purely family thing, and he doesn’t want to intrude.

Instead, he finally finishes his last essay in front of the fireplace. Opal sits in the armchair and keeps him company, humming the murder-squash song over and over again — Ronan is officially the absolute _worst_ influence.

The mood is understandably a little subdued when the others return, and Ronan seems guarded again in a way he wasn’t the day before. But he still makes a nice lunch for everyone before his brothers have to leave, and although he contributes little to the conversation, he doesn’t say nothing either.

Adam shakes Declan’s hand while Ronan and Matthew do their handshake and then share a bone-crushing bear hug. As they’re on their way to the door, Ronan says, “Wait,” and hurries to the kitchen. He comes back with a brown paper bag and he hands it to Declan, rubbing the back of his head in a gesture Adam recognises as self-concious. “Thought you might want some.”

Declan reaches into the bag, curious, and pulls out a jar of damson jam. “Oh,” he says, and for a second his face looks dangerously close to crumpling. But then his expression clears, and he smiles. “Like mom’s.” If there’s a tiny crack in his voice, no one says anything.

“Yeah,” Ronan said. “Except this one’s mine. And Adam helped. And Opal picked the berries.”

Adam thinks he knows what Ronan’s trying to say. Something about making old traditions new again; that not everything has to be rooted in pain or sadness.

Declan seems to get it. He puts the jam back in the bag and gives Ronan a hug; the manly kind, of course,  with plenty of pats on the back. “Look after yourself, little brother,” he says.

“You too.”

And then they’re gone, and it’s just Adam and Ronan left in the hallway.

For a moment, it’s dead silent, but then Adam takes Ronan’s hand. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Ronan squeezes his hand and smiles sadly. “Not really. But it’ll pass.”

* * *

 

Adam’s flight back to college is the following afternoon, so their time together is dwindling and they’re both painfully aware of it. Adam wishes he could stay longer, because Ronan’s still not back to fighting form, and honestly, Adam’s not either.

Gansey, Blue and Henry call from Venezuela a couple hours after Declan and Matthew have left. Gansey apologises profusely about not managing to call on Ronan’s actual birthday, and explains not managing to get even a single bar of signal all day.

The signal’s not good today either, their voices crackling in and out, but Adam knows that Ronan appreciates the call anyway. The fact that he answered on the first attempt is telling.

Talking to Gansey actually comes at the perfect time, because it’s an all-too stark reminder of why Cabeswater is gone in the first place. Gansey’s still here, against all odds, and Adam would sacrifice Cabeswater again and again and again if he had to, because the alternative — an existence without Gansey in the world — isn’t worth thinking about.

Once they’ve rang off with a promise to call again when they’re somewhere with better reception, Adam and Ronan spend the rest of the day entwined together on the sofa. They nap a little, kiss a lot. It’s nice.

Tinged with sadness, but still nice.

Adam says he doesn’t mind catching a bus or something to the airport so Ronan doesn’t have to take him, but Ronan insists, and Adam’s heart is heavy the whole way there. Ronan’s sitting right there, but Adam already misses him so much that it hurts.

The anticipation of leaving again is killing him.

Ronan comes in with him even though he doesn’t have to; it’s out of a need to not waste any seconds together and Adam understands and is secretly grateful, even though it somehow makes it even harder.

There’s a little time before Adam has to check in so they grab a coffee and hold hands over the table. Ronan’s sadness is palpable, but he’s putting on a brave face.

They push the time until Adam really can’t stay any longer without missing his check-in time.

“Back to the grind, then, Parrish,” Ronan says, and he manages a smile.

“Yep. At least I got all my essays finished. You’re not as distracting as you used to be. Losing your touch, Lynch.”

Ronan’s smile turns sharp and his eyes glint, and the sight makes Adam feel a little better; _he_ did that. “I’ll have to try harder next time then.”

“Uh huh,” Adam says, and then without him registering either of them moving, they’re kissing. It’s a brief, sweet thing because they’re in public and they already kissed a _lot_ before they got out of the car.

Ronan leans his forehead against Adam’s. He sighs. “Fuck it. Can I come and see you next weekend?”

Adam thinks about it for all of a second. “Yes,” he breathes out, and it feels like a fog is lifting. “Please do.”

Ronan’s arms close around Adam and he kisses his temple. “I’ll leave home Friday morning. Should get there by the time you’ve finished afternoon classes.”

“Okay,” Adam says. “Yeah. Good.” He doesn’t feel all that coherent, but it’s okay. Friday doesn’t seem that far away, and him and Ronan need each other right now. A week — especially _this_ week and all it entailed — was never going to be enough.

Ronan nudges him. “You’ve gotta go, Adam,” he says.

Adam kisses him again, just once, then walks away.

It’s okay to have bad days, or weeks, or whatever, he thinks as he takes his seat on the plane. But it’s also okay to admit that you don’t want to deal with it alone. It’s okay to need Ronan, and for Ronan to need him. And as long as they both remember that, they’re going to be fine.

Adam smiles. And he sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> *if anyone's interested I listened to Lazarus by Porcupine Tree on repeat while writing this, if you wanted to know what kind of mood I was in. I think it sets the tone quite nicely :)


End file.
